


The Scars of that Flesh

by sulfur_socks (orphan_account)



Category: Assassin's Creed, Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Assassin Dean, Assassin's Creed AU, Blood and Gore, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Templar Castiel, The idea is taken from Assassin's creed not the story :I, canonical elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5031088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sulfur_socks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel saw his life fall apart, piece by piece like a rotten corpse all because of that man staring at him right now, with those intense green eyes, making him gasp for oxygen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scars of that Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> I'm surprised at the lack of Ac crossover fics in the fandom, so voila!

He opened his eyes groggily, hacking coughs like he was choking on a huge hairball.  He tasted an abundance of iron and salt in his mouth---blood and struggled to get into a sitting position, wincing as a lance of pain speared through his head. He blinked to clear his blurred vision.

Of all the ways he’s been woken, this was surely the worst.

The first thing he saw were iron bars, like the ones you see on birdcages, except these were longer and infinitely thicker. He tried moving, only to be stopped by a shackle around his neck. He tried moving his arms but in vain due to the fact his limbs were shackled too. He let out a noise of frustration, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to hopefully disillusion the moment. His heart sank when he opened his eyes once more.

There was no doubting it. He was locked in a cage and shackled like a wild animal---but for what?

For all he knows, he is the owner of a diner and he means a normal one not a Shady, cover-type. He _does_ do a side of Family business but he was pretty sure he did not break any rule.

His eyes searched frantically for a loose nail or anything that would help him but was interrupted by a familiar smug voice calling his name, echoing through the cage.

“Castiel.”

He looked around for the source of the voice, immediately spotting a heavy-built, dark-skinned man in a posh-looking navy blue tailored suit. The familiar beady, crude oil coloured irises and the snarl of a smile made Castiel frown.

“Uriel?”

Castiel implored, confused.

“Why?-”

 “You know why Castiel.”

Uriel spat, enunciating his name. Castiel blinked, looking blankly at the other man. Uriel’s anger was only fuelled by his confusion.

“You can act innocent all you want, but we have proof of you _socializing_ with one of those infidels.”

He sneered, making Castiel furrow his brow. _Infidel?_

“I don’t know what you mean Uriel...I haven’t done anything illegal-”

“Oh it’s much worse than _that._ You have been associating with an _enemy_ and you haven’t reported about this to the Order! That is _scandalizing_ , brother.”

Uriel bellowed, his face contorted in sharp thorny anger. Castiel stood still, keeping his voice even and trying to placate Uriel when all he wanted to do was clutch his hair in frustration.

“Brother. I am quite certain that I have not broken a rule, I have done all that my father has asked...How can you question my loyalty?”

Uriel sighed, eyeing the other man like he was a lost cause; not dissimilar to the way a person looks at a murdering child. _Contempt.Disgust.Pity._

It took all of Castiel’s will to not turn purple and yell at the man. From what he has seen regarding the judicial structure of the Order, it was a petty thing.

Finally, Uriel who seemingly felt a bit of pity for Castiel dug a photo out of his pocket showing it to the imprisoned man.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. The Order had explicitly said that it would not poke its nose into his personal life. This picture was a testimony that he has been lied to since he could talk. It was numbing to realize a fact as big as this after twenty six years.

“What of it?”

He finally asked after a moment, reigning in his indignant fury.

“Don’t play coy Castiel, it does not suit you.”

Uriel grounded out, his features twisting into an ugly snarl. Castiel looked at his so called ‘brother’ in dismay. _What was he talking about?_ He still wondered squinting at the weirdly clear picture of him talking to a regular in the diner. The man he was talking to went by the name Mike Kilmister. He was pretty sure he wasn’t on the list of wanted people by the Order. He has never seen anyone on that list matching his description either.

“The picture is depicting me talking to a man about his _pie..._ is that breaking protocol?”

Castiel asked, sarcasm drenching his words like the honey soaked pancakes he had for breakfast. If Uriel was red before, he was a dashing royal purple now.

“We’ve noticed that you talk to him more than you do to your other customers.”

Uriel bit out, barely contained fury behind the words. Castiel blushed at all the implications that sentence might have been. He prayed that the poor lighting hid his blush.

He liked Mike. He had a dashing smile and a certain charm Castiel couldn’t find anywhere else. He met him the first time when he had a shortage of staff and had to wait tables. It was around the closing time when Mike had arrived and Castiel was tired and cranky, his eyesight sometimes blurring with fatigue.

When Castiel went to take orders for the man, he was tripping on his own shoes every few steps. By the time he reached, he expected a disgruntled customer and waspish words but was awarded with concerned look and a ‘You okay there buddy?’

Castiel had blinked in surprise telling Mike he was fine and proceeded to take down his orders.

When Castiel had come back out of the kitchen to clear the dishes and close the shop, he had been met with a healthy tip and an unused tissue with a smiley face and scrawl of a messy ‘I love your pie’ below. He remembers how that little thing and had made him go to sleep with a smile on his face rather than a tired scowl.

From then on Mike was a regular fixture in the diner always ordering apple pie for desert and going to the counter instead of waiting at a table for ordering just to talk to Castiel. He had become a friend of sorts in a matter of months.

“We are...acquaintances...He would ask me about his day and I would get him his pie and ask about his day too, that is all.”

Castiel said defensively, clenching his jaw. Uriel raised an eyebrow at that and then shook his head resignedly.

“Forgive me if we don’t believe that brother.”

It was annoying how Uriel kept saying ‘we’ like he couldn’t think himself or that he had an annoying spouse. Castiel sucked in a long breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

“And what is it you are going to do to me?”

He could hear a shuffle like Uriel had moved closer to him. He remained with his eyes closed.

“Well, you know what we are going to-”

Uriel had stopped midsentence in a gurgle, his throat clicking sickeningly. It sounded like he was choking on something viscous...something viscous like blood. Castiel eyes snapped open at that, his eyes widening in horror at the scene he witnesses.

Uriel’s eyes and flat and lifeless, His mouth gaping like he was in shock. The neck was pierced by a small, shiny blade, blood still spurting out of the wound like a leaky faucet. The blade slips smoothly out of the flesh with a metallic ‘snick’ and Uriel’s body falls face forward onto Castiel’s cage, making Castiel step back. He had nothing to defend himself with, seeing as Uriel had taken the blade he kept in his sleeve and the glock in his jacket. He gulped, chains rattling as he bought his arms closer to himself.

Uriel’s body was pushed aside forcefully, revealing a man with his face obscured with a hood with a curved tip like an eagle’s beak. An Assassin.

“Who are you?”

Castiel was compelled to ask, though he knew it was a stupid question.  It was due to the fact that the man had inadvertently saved Castiel from dying. But why?

The man just unleashed a blade at his wrist--- the one that lead to Uriel’s demise--- coming towards the cage and breaking its lock, coming closer to Castiel, the blade glinting in the shadows. The man had come to kill him after all. He closed his eyes, readying himself for oblivion, only to be awarded with a shackle now broken with a loud snap make his left arm swing towards him in a flash. He look up at the man to catch his eyes but the man’s head was ducked, the hood successfully shadowing his features.

“Consider yourself free from the Templars.”

The man said in a rough, automated voice, turning around and walking towards Uriel’s body. Castiel frowned. Whoever this man was, he had gotten his facts wrong.

“I appreciate you saving me... but I’m not leaving the Order.”

Castiel rasped, spotting a bolt which had fallen off his shattered shackle. He stretched a leg to get it.

The man doing whatever he was doing, possibly looting Uriel’s corpse froze. After a moment he resumed his possible thieving.

“The men you work for ain’t the saints you think they are.”

The man said, the synthesized voice, voiding the emotion in his speech. Castiel reached the bolt, dragging it closer to his torso, within the reach of his left hand.

“That maybe it, but that does not mean the Assassins are _saints_ either.”

Castiel bit out, his jaw clenching painfully. The Templars are his family. They might not shower him with affection, but they took him in when his own blood left him behind. He could not betray that. He was loyal.

The man seemed to have found what he was looking for, stuffing it into his jacket after a glance. He stood up, turning towards Castiel, his head still ducked. He sighed wearily, turning away after a moment, climbing up an iron beam, painfully trade-marking his Creed.

“Look, we’ve made mistakes in the past okay? You guys did too. We’re tryna fix our mistakes. You guys seemed to be running in the opposite direction, though.”

There was a heavy pause as his climbed higher up to the safety hatch. Castiel clenched his fists, ready to retaliate. The Assassin beat him to it.

“I’m....I’m not telling you that all the Templars have more blood than average staining their sleeves...all I’m sayin’ is that those few, hiding within your order, they’re gonna rot your Order’s core.”

Assassin said gravely, his crackly metallic voice loud in the stillness of the chamber. Castiel, against all odds felt a shiver up his spine.

_What was that man trying to imply?_

***

“Rachel.”

Castiel said, nodding in greeting. Rachel looked at him in confusion before schooling her features into a smile. Castiel frowned.

“Castiel. How are you?”

She said pleasantly, taking a seat on the soft worn sofa in Castiel’s apartment. Castiel set a cup of tea in front of her, taking a seat opposite to her on the puce couch he had got at a yard sale. Castiel did not reply for a moment pursing his lips.

“You know why I called you here.”

Rachel sighed, taking a sip of her tea and then cringing. Castiel probably gave her the cup of tea he made for himself: with extra helpings sugar.

“Yes.”

Castiel gripped the handle of his teacup hard before easing pressure to not break the crockery.

“Then you know that Uriel is wrong. I am not working with the Assassins.”

He said, his controlled voice almost letting a drop of pleading bleed through. Rachel smiled, setting her teacup on the coffee table and leaning forward to place a reassuring hand on his.

 “Of course I do.”

Castiel sighed in relief, feeling the dull ache in his jaw vanish after vanquishing its clenching. Rachel’s smile faded into uncertainty.

“But...I’m not the only Templar.”

Castiel closed his eyes, his heart sinking. They could not do this to him. It was unfair.

“How do I....How do I prove my loyalty?”

Rachel’s mouth curved downwards. She shook her head.

“I don’t know brother... The Higher-ups are still talking about it.”

Castiel tensed, his mind letting in a traitorous thought, unbidden.

_......All I’m sayin’ is that those few, hiding within your order, they’re gonna rot your Order’s core....._

He shook himself off the thought. Castiel sipped his tea. It was bitter.

He set his teacup down and got up, startling Rachel into doing the same. She looked at him in confusion.

“Where are you going?”

Castiel turned, unwilling to see her face when he said,

“Work. I have a diner to run...My employees can’t run it by themselves all day while I enjoy a cup of tea.”

There was a pause behind him when Rachel probably spotted his full cup of now cold tea.

“That isn’t a good idea Castiel...That’s where-”

She stopped abruptly, but what she had tried to tell Castiel was crystal clear.

“I can’t prove my innocence until I go back there...They’ve installed bugs I assume?”

Rachel’s hesitant pause was an adequate answer.

“I see... Goodbye Rachel.”

He could hear Rachel heave a huge sigh, before he heard the clack of her heels and her hand on his shoulder.

“May the Father of Understanding guide you, brother.”

***

Returning to the ‘Livewell’s’ diner just after a day Castiel was imprisoned was surreal. He thought he’d never see it again. It was his only possession he fought tooth and nail to nurture himself, and to not be able to go back to this safe haven was terrifying.

He shook out his reverie like a wet dog. He entered the kitchen and donned on an apron and smiled at all his surprised employees.

“Welcome back, boy.”

The old chef, Joshua said gruffly, ruffling his hair affectionately.  Alfie, the busboy grinned toothily at him while Jophiel, one of the waiters patted his shoulder with a warm smile.

“Welcome back, boss.”

He said. Castiel looked at all of them, a rare grin donning his face. He patted down his apron and looked at everyone.

“Nice to see you all...how is Livewell’s faring?”

He asked, heading toward the door to the service counter. The movements were smoother than a mission, much more enjoyable. This was homestead he made, a homestead void of violence.

“You mean: ‘Did Mike come ‘round yesterday to see my pretty pining face?’”

Ion, the assistant cook said with a roll of eyes before turning around to finish cutting the onions, making Castiel pause, a groan building in his throat. He should have _never_ mentioned Mike during that one unlucky break over a couple of apple ciders.

“I wasn’t talking abou-”

Castiel protested but was immediately interrupted by Hael, a waitress, who had just come in from waiting tables.

“Well, Mike _was_ there yesterday ‘round his usual time.”

Castiel opened his mouth again once more but was interrupted by Hael who had seemed to want to continue whatever she was saying, much to his dismay.

“Oh yeah!”

She said with a thoughtful expression, her finger exaggeratingly tapping her chin.

“He was asking about you.”

She said with a wink, taking a plate of steamy food from Ion and leaving the kitchen with a weary Castiel.

“What did you all say?”

He said to no one in particular.

“Say what?”

Asked Joshua who was frying a couple of fat-bubbling patties.

“...To him...to Mike.”

 Castiel said with a sigh, looking at the closed door to the service counter for no reason in particular.

“Your brother called and told you had some important family meeting...and I told the same thing to that boy.”

Joshua said with a shrug, flipping a patty and adding a slice of cheese. Castiel made a noise of acknowledgement before continuing his walk towards the fated counter.

Uriel and his deluded thoughts of thinking that Castiel was his kin...They were annoying, but they weren’t out of the ordinary. With a pang he realized he won’t have a problem with that anymore. Uriel is dead.

“You shoulda’ seen the boy, though...He looked near devastated like you was sent to your death or somethin.”

The old Cook said with a lilt in his sentence to signify his curiosity. Castiel stopped in his tracks, a question itching the back of his throat. He swallowed it back down though, when he realized something, belatedly.

_...They’ve installed bugs I assume?..._

“I see.”

He said simply, pushing the door open to serve customers by the counter when he spotted the Man himself. Mike Kilmister.

He was hovering behind the counter, presumably waiting for Castiel. When he saw Castiel a lop-sided grin brightened his face as he swaggered over to the counter.

“Heya Cas!”

He greeted, taking a seat and tapping a finger on the counter.

“An apple pie a-la mode please.”

He said with a cheeky wink before putting both his hands on a table. Castiel wanted to smile back and continue with the friendly banter but he couldn’t. Too much, he knew. And too less. He nodded with a forced smile, leaning over to open the door and tell Ion the order.

“Somethin’ the matter, Cas?”

Mike said with concern lacing his words. Castiel clenched his fists under the counter, stopping himself from grabbing the man’s lapels and wringing him. It was because of him he’s now under speculation. He had believed him still. Believed he was an ordinary man, mistaken for someone else. What if he’s wrong? Who indeed is Mike Kilmister?

...If that is actually his name.

“Cas?”

The man repeated, trying to catch his eye. Castiel looked away and opened the door to check on Ion, who still had his back turned to him.

“...Nothing.”

Castiel said finally, clearing his throat and heading towards the coffee machine.

“Coffee?”

He asked, changing the subject in a stunted manner. There was a pause behind him. Even Mike’s nonsensical tapping on the counter had stopped.

“The usual.”

He said, uncertainly, dropping of the subject. When Castiel turned around, Mike was still staring at him intently like he was waiting for Castiel to say something.

He just turned around, preparing the coffee. The lull where only the coffee machine whirred was uncomfortable and filled with awkward silence.

“Hey... Cas.”

Mike said tapping his shoulder. Castiel turned around, surprised. He jumped over the service counter and tapped Castiel’s shoulder without him noticing. The quality was so synonymous to the group people he didn’t quite like. He narrowed his eyes at Mike, who cleared his throat and handed a tissue paper to him. Castiel hesitantly took the tissue and looked at it.

_‘There are Templar agents on the rooftops and in the diner. Guess who they’re after?’_

  Castiel looked up at the traitor, whatever his name was, his hand snaking behind his apron to reach his blade which was fit snugly in a hidden compartment.  A hand roughly gripped his wrist to cut off its journey.

“Would you just finish that thing already? I’m waiting.”

Mike said with forced cheer, his eyes darting rapidly between the tissue and Castiel. He sighed in resignation and looked down at the paper once more. You couldn’t kill a man in broad daylight anyway.

_‘I know you want to kill me and all that and you don’t believe a single word I’m spewing but just look at those two men at your 9:00_

_The Order doesn’t believe a single word you said Cas, they’ve sent men to kill you and me_

_I’m sorry about that, by the way.’_

Cold dread trickled down his spine like liquid nitrogen on naked skin, his hand crushing the tissue paper he had. He can’t lose this. He can’t be kicked out of the order. Not because of some petty Assassin.

Castiel made sure he put all the venom he had in his glare when he looked up at the Assassin. He ripped his wrist from the man’s grip harshly. He grabbed the man’s collar and pulled him through the service door, ignoring the man’s feeble protests, getting surprised looks from his employees and through the exit alley. He pushed him against a wall, the blade from his apron, now at the Assassin’s throat.

“What makes you think that I can’t kill you to prove my innocence?”

The Assassin chuckled, his hand coming to grip Castiel’s wrist to stave off the blade.  

“Because they’ve already placed a hit on you, long before you met me.”

He said, mindless of the danger at his throat except for the hand he had at Castiel’s wrist. Castiel’s insides twisted into knots. _No._

“And why should I believe you?”

Castiel spat, heaving breaths like he ran a marathon. _Why is he even letting the words affect him?_

“Because, Cas... deep down, you know too.”

The Assassin said solemnly, His eyes boring into Castiel’s. They were green, but not the soft shades of nature. They were intense, burning. Like the colour of Absinthe.

 Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. Of course he did.

Castiel saw his life fall apart, piece by piece like a rotten corpse all because of that man, staring at him right now, with those intense green eyes, making him gasp for oxygen.

_....“Hester, are you not telling me something?”_

_“What are you talking about Castiel?”_

_“You’ve been checking on the Du Viviers family.”_

_“It’s nothing.”_

_“It’s on your hit list.”_

_“Shouldn’t you be at work? You have enough on your plate as it is...Interfering with my work would not help.”_

_“My apologies”..._

Castiel shook his head. It was a mere coincidence that He was from New Orleans and the family was too. That he was sure his parents were dead.

“I don’t.”

Castiel said firmly. He realized his hands were shaking. He tightened his grip on the blade.

“Cas, come on...think! Your Name is Castiel Du Vivier, a family killed by the very people you call your kin.”

The Assassin said impatiently, using his other hand to grip Castiel’s shoulder. He opened his mouth to tell him ‘ _No, you got it wrong.’_ But his voice did not respond.

 Castiel’s vision blurred as pained crawled up his temples. He dropped his blade, the clatter echoing in the quiet alley. He felt his knees hit the pavement, a dull ache. Static filled his ears as he felt someone grip his shoulders and shout. Everything went black...

and then in technicolour.

Castiel was sitting on a couch, patting Migsy the puppy. He was waiting for Maman’s special soup which would magically cure his paining head.

“ _Mon chou!_ We’re going to _Mamie’s_ house, _bien_?”

He heard Maman call, before she came into view with his blue backpack. Castiel was confused; he looked at Migsy for answers. Migsy’s button eyes stared back. He looked at Maman once more.

“What about Papa?”

Maman looked scared and had tears rolling down her cheeks, holding out a hand for Castiel.

“Papa’s out on a business trip. We should go before Mamie’s yummy macaroons get over, oui?”

Castiel jumped up, gripping Maman’s hand. He loved Mamie’s macaroons. _But why was Maman crying? Is it because she’s scared that the macaroons won’t be as tasty as last time?_

“Don’t worry Maman, Mamie’s macaroons will be yummy.”

Castiel squeezed Maman’s hand. Maman smiled, her tears not stopping, making Castiel frown. She pulled his hand as she ran down the stairs and up to their car, putting Castiel’s backpack in the back. She turned towards him to get him in the car when a big man came and put a knife in her tummy. Red water gushed out of the hole as she fell. Blood, he heard his science teacher call it.

But you need blood to live. Is Maman dying?

“Maman!”

He screamed, as the big man came to him next holding the big knife dripping with Maman’s blood.

“Run!”

Maman screamed to him, as his vision filled with a blood covered cross, like the one he sees in Sunday school except fatter and shorter. It filled his vision until the only thing he could see was red. He screamed once more,

“Maman!”

Castiel gasped, as he pulled his face away from the chilled glass. He heard engine rumbling. When his vision focused, he realized he was in the back seat of a car.

“You okay?”

A gruff voice called out from the driver’s seat. Castiel froze when the day’s events came crashing down on him like a tidal wave. He was in a moving vehicle with an Assassin. He tried pulling the blade from his coat, when he realized: a) He left his coat at the diner; b) he was bound.

“I would be okay if you would remove these...ropes.”

Castiel bit out, struggling against the bonds.

The man chuckled, putting a tape recorder. A second passed before there was a man with a scratchy voice twanging a guitar.

“Hey I’m not that stupid. It’ll take you about twenty minutes or less to get out of them anyway.”

Castiel was already concentrating on that godforsaken task.

“Why tie me up then?”

He asked, annoyed. The Assassin didn’t seem bothered by Castiel’s affinity to escape. He just hummed to the song playing before answering,

“To keep you where I need you for five minutes.”

He said with a teasing tone. That only hastened Castiel need to escape.

“Since you’re gonna see a lotta me...”

The man continued cheerfully.

“The name’s Dean.”

**Author's Note:**

> Is this a muse I should continue? I'm conflicted :O


End file.
